


The Beggar King

by KiyaSama



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, mention of Targaryen incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiyaSama/pseuds/KiyaSama
Summary: Falling from grace is the hardest to swallow, yet his single-minded determination to reclaim his birthright must take precedence. Until then, he has a burden to bear - a sibling who is most precious despite instincts that wish for him to think otherwise.





	The Beggar King

**Author's Note:**

> Viserys has always been fascinating to me, and I know his character is not exactly the sort to cheer for. However, his backstory gave me some empathy into why he turned out the way he did (and no it doesn’t excuse him from all the crap he pulled), still his upbringing and life on the streets couldn’t have been easy and it shaped the bitter man he would eventually become.
> 
> This story began with a simple premise of writing a drabble about a snippet of that time during their exiled years in Essos, or better yet an excuse to delve into Viserys’ psyche a little bit. He wasn’t always an asshole to Dany, and this is one of those times. It’s a one-shot, and I hope you like it.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

 

Her skin felt like the breath of the dragon itself.

Still he hung on to his precious burden, grunting as he adjusted her weight upon his back and quickened his steps through the blackened and sin-stained streets of Pentos. He did his best to ignore the tantalizing smells of spicy stews and roasted meats; his stomach growling and feet stumbling as he recalled the last meal they had eaten was sometime the night before. Even then, the hard piece of bread and thin onion soup spared by the lady of the inn had barely satisfied him let alone the girl now muttering incoherent words against his neck.

“What are you saying?” he panted impatiently despite the nagging tug of worry that wouldn’t ease away.

Her fever was getting worse, and if this kept up, he might be carrying a corpse quite soon. It was a terrifying thought, but one he chose not to dwell upon. For the idea that he might be the very _last_ was something he had not considered too often. Once upon a time he had lived amidst wet nurses, handmaidens, servants, the Kingsguards, and subjects who worshiped at his feet and longed for the day he would take over the throne. So yes, most of the time was spent trembling beneath the feet of a father whose bouts of insanity seemed to get worse with every passing day, but he’d always had a mother who did her best to remind him of how ‘normal’ he could be.

And of course, there had been big brother, Rhaegar. He who had always looked so tall, handsome, and just a little out of reach.

“Some day your time will come, Viserys,” he’d say with a steady hand placed on Viserys's head, though his gaze seemed trained on something beyond the arched windows of the Red Keep. Rhaegar had always looked that way, hadn’t he? As if this world…this life of his wasn’t enough, and there was just something more beyond the horizon; something he had to reach but found impossible to do so.

 _I wonder if you’ve finally found what you were looking for in death, brother,_ Viserys thought bitterly. _If only you hadn’t lost that battle, or gotten us into this mess-_

“Hey now!” came the angry grunt as the burly oiled man, in a silk skirt, nearly sent his caravan of live chickens careening into them. “Watch where you’re going, you brat!”

In a flash, a long leather whip danced in the air, its destination intended for Viserys or at least the cargo on his back. Nimbly, he was barely able to dodge the lashing, his knees trembling and his cargo nearly slipping off his back as he moved out of the way.

_Seven hells!_

“Filthy beggars,” the man muttered in heavily-accented Valyrian, and spat in their general direction before whipping his hunched mules into motion.

 _I am not a beggar,_ he would think furiously as he adjusted her weight again and tried to blend amongst the shadows. _I am Viserys Targaryen, third of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Once I’ve taken back the Iron Throne, I’ll make peasants like you pay with fire and blood. I swear it!_

It was a mantra he repeated to himself often, a mantra he clung and latched onto like his mother’s precious crown and ring he kept hidden within his clothes. It was all he had left to remind him of a woman he had loved most dearly, and despite her unfortunate death (mostly thanks to the baggage he was carrying), his dreams were sometimes filled with memories of her. These were memories filled with the warm sunny days he would sit on her lap and listen to the stories she’d read to him or the gentle touch of her hands upon his hair as she sang him to sleep. Those moments were always rare, for his father, the ‘Mad King’ Aerys, had seemed determined to keep their relationship distant. His fear that Viserys would meet the same fate as his dead siblings had forced Viserys to grow in an environment that was anything but normal.

His mother was not allowed to see him alone. He was kept (imprisoned) in his solar for most of the time with only favored wet nurses and servants that had passed rigorous tests to be sure they had no ulterior motive. The Kingsguards were playmates. The birds, and occasional cats to wander the halls, his closest confidantes. He was not allowed to celebrate name days, and any gifts and presents brought to him were ordered to be destroyed. He couldn’t recall even being allowed to visit other castles or lands, and on the rare occasions they did, he was usually hidden within the litter until it was safe to be let out.

Perhaps his father’s intense paranoia had seeped into his way of thinking. Perhaps that was why he became skittish and prone to doubting everyone, never sure who to trust or who was a friend.

 _What friend?_ he thought with a scoff as he peered around the corner of the building and into the bustling street before him. _I have no friend. All who know us only want to either use us or kill us, and I’ll be damned if I let the Usurpers win._

He blinked hard to get the sweat out of his eyes, his limp silver-blond hair falling into his eyes. The sun might be setting along the Pentoshi skyline, but the heat was still as unbearable as ever. However, he knew standing around here wasn’t going to help matters. He had to find a place for them to sleep tonight, at least for her if nothing else. He doubted their usual random doorstep or shit-infested stable was what she needed at this time.

And so, taking a deep breath, he stepped into the chaos and hoped to get ‘lost’ amongst its colorful people. Slaves in chains mingled with rich magisters with gold teeth and matching beards. Dancing women with perky breasts pierced with diamonds and gold rings, danced upon wooden stilts to the delight of their fawning audience. Traders from as far as Volantis and Asshai haggled with smugglers from Tyr and Lys; goods of gold, silver, and spices exchanging greedy hands attached to empty smiles. The red walls of its mud-caked buildings were now being illuminated with oil lanterns and torches, buxom women in scantily-clad clothes posing enticingly at windows or doorways hoping for the perfect customer to grease their palms and perhaps find solace between their legs for an hour or two.

At fifteen, he was old enough to know what sort of things happened in such hovels, but it didn’t mean he approved of how cheap and disgusting it all seemed.

“Come here, pretty boy,” one of them crooned as Viserys lowered his gaze to the ground and quickened his pace. “Come and let me show you a good time, huh? Only a copper for a beautiful young man like you.”

 _Beautiful?_ That was a laugh. He hadn’t had a good bath in days. He must smell like pig shit, hay, and vomit. _Her_ vomit after their last meal that is. She wasn’t even able to keep anything down, and the knot of worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach tightened. He danced away from hailing tradesmen offering him the finest fresh snakes from the Shadow Lands. He winced as a balding fat man with odd nautical markings on his head and right cheek licked his slobbering lips and offered him a gold dragon for a chance to keep him company. Viserys felt the rise of color to his cheeks, but he kept on walking. Despite the soles of his feet aching and raw from his long journey; its callouses nearly bursting and coating his toes with blood. He walked despite his knees trembling from how weak he was becoming; the lack of food not helped by the smells of it surrounding them.

 _I don’t know how much longer I can keep up,_ he wondered as his vision wavered and his breath came out in short gasps.

Fortune would however, smile on him when he finally saw the creaking wooden sign barely hanging on to its iron post. Experiencing a sudden burst of energy, he hoisted her a bit higher up his back and led them closer to the doorway, where a woman in her mid or early thirties seemed to be shouting at someone inside the building.

She was speaking in Valyrian, but her profile seemed to lean toward the Westerosi. Her features were hard and lined with the stress of her lifestyle, and as she finally turned to them; they were creased with impatience and disgust.

“Yah?” she asked in Valyrian. “What ya want? Don’t got no room for beggars. Now scram!”

 _Bastard Valyrian,_ Viserys thought as he struggled to reply in kind. After living on the streets for this long, it was easy to pick up the language.

“We’d like to stay the night,” he began carefully. “Me and my sister. She’s sick and-”

“This look like a temple to ya?” the woman spat.

“I’ve got some money-”

“It’s four coppers for the both of ya.”

Viserys winced. “We’ll share a bed, my lady. It’s no trouble for us.”

“I dun care,” the woman replied and turned back to yell at a man who had spoken to her from indoors. “I tol’ ya a thousand times! I ain’t got none!” She whirled back to Viserys. “Four coppers or ya go! I got a long line of people waiting behind ya, kid.”

Sure, enough there was, mostly made up of seamen and traders who couldn’t afford the more expensive inns. They looked much too tall, much too dangerous, and one or two were even leering at his sister. Viserys felt his blood boil. He could easily walk away from here, but –

“Please ma’am,” he begged; hating how whiny his voice sounded. Hating that he – the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms – was reduced to begging this bitter woman for a chance to lay his head upon a pillow. “I’ve only got two coppers. It’s all I’ve got. I’ll-”

“Four coppers or yer out-”

“Aww give the kid a break,” someone yelled from behind.

“Ya gonna pay for him then?!” the woman shot back and held out her hand.

“I will,” came the solemn hard voice belonging to a man with dark hair and beard on rugged features. Unlike his counterparts dressed in silks and leathers, he was in clothing Viserys recognized from his stay at Dragonstone. His tall presence and halting Valyrian was another sign that he probably wasn’t from Essos, and as he watched the exchange of coins from one hand to another, Viserys felt the cold claws of fear grip his spine.

He ought to be grateful, to get the words ‘thank you’ out of his lips, but all he could see was this man as an enemy; as someone sent by the Usurper to keep an eye on he and his sister. Suddenly the prospect of spending the night in this place wasn’t so enticing after all. He wanted to escape, but –

**“BLERGH!”**

“By the gods!”

“That is disgusting!”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She vomited all over him. Poor fella!”

“Someone come clean up this mess!”

There was a sudden flurry of activity where they were quickly whisked into the boarding house and tossed into a dingy room large enough for a large wooden tub of water and a scrubbing brush. Viserys was hardly given a chance to speak for the hostess did all the speaking and cursing for them. His sister was pried away from his back, and as he watched her being stripped by one of the woman’s helpers, he hardly felt his own soiled clothing being removed. His sister’s eyes were barely open, just a hint of their usual bright violet hue visible as she was tossed and turned like a rag doll. The once rich silk gown of purple and gold, now a washed-out sheath of lilac, was flung to the side revealing a scrawny figure desperate for a good meal. Water was suddenly splashed on her, which seemed to do the trick for she let out a pitiful wail before bursting into tears with a wild-eyed expression in her eyes. They darted back and forth, her thin arms flailing as the older woman tried to wash her.

“Viserys!” she screamed plaintively. “Where’s my brother? I want my brother!”

“I’m here, Dany!” Viserys called out in reassurance, even as he was turned away and the skin of his back nearly sloughed off thanks to the coarse brush being used to wash away the layer of filth from his skin.

“Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m right here with you, okay?”

Her whimpered okay and muffled crying made him sick to his stomach, but mercifully the torture of a bath was over, and he was given a pair of leathers and a cotton shirt that was two sizes too big. Panicked as he watched his clothes being taken way, he begged for them to be returned. He knew there were thieves in every corner, and once he lost sight of his clothes, his mother’s belongings would be gone forever.

“Yer lucky that man paid for yer,” the woman, whose name was apparently Alyanna, said as she led them into a large claustrophobic room lined with at least a hundred thin corn-shuck mattresses and threadbare sheets with flattened pillows barely stuffed enough for comfort. They walked past sleeping men, wailing babies, agitated children, frustrated mothers, drunken fathers, card-playing or gambling men, amidst the stench of smoke, grease, and sewage.

“Otherwise I woulda threwn you sorry lot out. There yer go,” Alyanna pointed to the dank corner of the furthermost part of the room, where she hung an oil lantern for some form of light. “One mattress for yer two. And make sure she don’t vomit again. The bath was a one-time free offer.”

Viserys nodded his gratitude, though his teeth gritted at being treated so dismissively.

“Come on, Dany,” he whispered as he held onto the furnace-like hand and lowered them to the mattress. He made sure she was comfortable, well as comfortable as she could possibly be considering their circumstances. It didn’t help that they were surrounded by a couple of men from Braavos, who seemed determined to play their gambling game and curse and shout ever so often.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as he placed a hand against her forehead, which moved as she nodded softly. Digging into his soiled clothing, he pulled out the last piece of bread he had saved. It was brittle and crumbled easily in his hands. He tried not to think of the wonderful feasts he used to have at the Red Keep, and was just about to offer it to her when a familiar rumbling voice had him turning around quickly. He would fail to notice his immediate protective position over Dany, as if hoping the man now towering over them wouldn’t see her.

“What do you want?” Viserys asked rudely. It was the man who had paid for their stay, and Viserys was now sure he wanted to probably request his ‘reward’ for his generosity. He felt his stomach recoil with the notion that he might have to humiliate himself again, for there were things he had done he was not proud of, and would rather spare his sister from ever hearing or knowing.

 _All to survive,_ he would tell himself with every painful experience.

“A thank you would have sufficed,” came the amiable response spoken in the Common Tongue. When Viserys showed no sign of smiling in kind, he stooped to his haunches and dug into the leather pouch draped around his broad shoulders. “I think she’ll be better served with something healthier. She can drink some of this…”

 _This_ was a strange white powder wrapped in a leaf and held together with twine. Viserys watched with growing panic as a little of the substance was mixed in a cup of water and stirred with a finger. The man would begin to offer it to Dany, but stopped as he noticed something on Viserys’s features. He smiled.

“You want me to taste it first, don’t you?”

At the narrowing of Viserys’s gaze, he shrugged and did as told, though he grimaced. “Taste leaves a little to be desired, but I guarantee you, it’s not meant to harm your sister. She’s got a terrible fever, and if it doesn’t abate soon…”

Viserys caught his lower lip between his teeth, torn between believing this stranger who bore no ill will or if he was the greatest actor yet. However, at the low moan heard behind him, Viserys closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and accepted the cup, but not before taking a sip as well. If she was going to die from this then, he might as well do the same.

“Urgh,” he gagged as the bitter taste coated his tongue. Besides the initial deceptive lemon flavor, the aftertaste was disgusting.

“It’s from Leng,” the man explained as he watched Viserys help Dany into sitting position and placed the cup against her blistered lips. “They call it ‘Sweet Elixir’, don’t ask me why. But it’s quite expensive and many swear by its healing properties...at least most of my crew does.”

“You have a crew?” Viserys asked as he patted Dany’s back gently when she choked on the drink. “What ship? Where are you from? What’s your name?”

The man laughed softly. “One at a time, young ser. My name is William Ryswell. I am a mere sea captain of one lone ship – _The Sea Urchin_ – and most of my crew are around here somewhere. We were unfortunately caught in a terrible storm and while my ship gets repaired, I have to stay somewhere for the night. Lucky we found this…wonderful place.”

His sarcastic remark was heralded by the smashing of glass and the subsequent blows and shouts as a fight broke out. Alyanna and her husband were already running in with two towering men behind them to break it up.

“I’m scared,” Dany whimpered and burrowed against Viserys.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” her brother chided her even as he wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders. “Remember who we are. We dra-”

He froze and looked back at William sharply. He had almost given away who they were, and if he was indeed a spy from the Usurper (for with such a name, there was no doubt he was from Westeros), then they were no longer safe.

“She must have some food in her stomach,” came the quiet words from William as he dug into his pouch again, this time withdrawing fresh fruit; two oranges, a fig, and some grapes. He placed them on the mattress before the siblings. “Not much, but it should be enough for now.”

Dany, who was staring at the fruit as if they were foreign objects, could barely control the drool to escape her lips. Viserys was embarrassed at her display, but at the growl of his stomach, he mumbled an embarrassed thanks and helped himself to what was probably the best tasting fruits in the whole world. He made sure Dany didn’t regurgitate them, and coaxed her to eat slowly.

Whether it was the combination of the fruit or the medicine, which Viserys had tucked into his clothes, Dany was soon nodding in weariness. Luckily, most of the other occupants in the room were beginning to the feel the effects of a long day, and snores were soon interspersed amongst quiet conversation and the occasional cry from a baby.

William rose to his feet and stretched. “I will retire now. Don’t worry, I’ll be sleeping right over there, so you won’t have to worry about anyone bothering you or your sister.”

“Why do you care?” Viserys heard himself ask, wishing he didn’t sound so petty and ungrateful. However, receiving kindness from anyone these days were few and far between, and he sometimes didn’t quite know how to deal with it.

The captain tipped his hat and smiled. “Because I, like many of your loyal subjects, count the days until your rightful return to the Iron Throne.”

Viserys felt the world spin, and he suddenly felt like letting go of all he had eaten as well as wetting himself. This man was clearly a spy! He had to be! No one was supposed to know…!

“…hate to see anyone bothering you. I have children of my own you see and you remind me of them.”

 _What?_ Viserys blinked himself back to the present. William was smiling at Dany, who was already half-asleep. “What did you say?”

“I said you two remind me of my own children,” William repeated with a bemused frown. “I don’t know what your story is, but something tells me you two have suffered greatly.” He held up his hands as if to ward off something from Viserys’s expression. “I’m not asking you to tell me what happened, but I do hope you two find your way back home someday. Now, I must go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

And with another tip of his hat, he made his way to his bedding, which was only a mattress away. Viserys, wondering if it had just been his mind playing tricks on him, or if he had actually heard William say his wish to see him on the throne, could only remain upright; his back pressed against the cold wall, where roaches peeked from holes and crevices seeking the crumbs from leftover meals. He barely flinched as Dany rest her head upon his lap, but not before her whispered plea for him to tell her the story about Aegon the Conqueror and his brave sisters.

He was tired. He needed to sleep. He wanted to tell her to stop bothering him, and yet his lips began to move, and his fingers absently threaded through her silver hair. He told a story he could rattle off in his dreams, and even as her snores were heard, as the room fell just a little quieter, and as William used his leather pouch as extra cushioning for his head, Viserys remained awake.

She was only seven, but old enough for any of these lecherous men to take advantage of her if he dared look away for even a second. If she was to be his bride, as Targaryen tradition dictated, then it was his duty to protect her maidenhead until it was time. The Others take anyone who attempted to violate what was his.

However, when his head began to lag, and he found himself transitioning between wakefulness and his dreams, he would slap himself awake and recite the names of his ancestors, their reign on the Iron Throne, and their accomplishments while in power.

He was in the midst of Daeron the Second, when a hand shook his shoulder and forced his lashes open.

“Rise and shine, boy,” Alyanna barked in his face. “Eat yer breakfast and then yer out.”

He cursed himself for falling asleep, even as his panicked gaze darted downward to see if Dany was still with him. She was, but sitting up, looking much better, and with spots of color on her cheeks. Guess William wasn’t so full of hot air after all. That nasty substance was indeed magical. His sister was currently spooning some creamy chicken soup into her mouth, and when she noticed her brother staring, she burst into a smile of such sweet innocence, he felt his heart stir and yet break at the same time.

“That strange man bought it for us,” she explained in a whisper, so the others wouldn’t hear; not that they were concerned. Many were already shuffling out of the room or getting dressed for the day, though the sun was yet to make its presence known.

“You were sleeping and he paid for our food and left some money for us too,” she added and pointed toward his clothes. “I hid it in there, but he said, if we need a ship to take us home, we can go with him.” She looked ridiculously hopeful at that, the spoon hanging from the corner of her mouth and a hint of soup trickling from the corner of it.

 _You don’t understand, do you?_ Viserys thought with a sigh as he reached for his bowl. _We are not going home like this, at least not with some struggling sea captain of a lone ship. We will need a fleet of the finest ships when we return to Westeros to conquer and reclaim what is ours. We have the blood of the dragons flowing through us, Dany, and you must not forget that. Ever._

“Viserys?”

He looked up then and into her violet eyes, hating himself for having to watch that light of hope vanish as he replied coldly. “Finish up your food, Dany, and let’s not talk about such stupid ideas again.”

She would dutifully do as told and remain silent as they left the boarding house and began their seemingly endless journey through the red city. She did not question why they would eventually end up at the port, or why he would choose to remain in the shadows as they watched the large ships, with their pretty sails, weaving in and out of the bustling harbor. She would not question why he suddenly seemed entranced at the sight of a small ship called _The Sea Urchin_ , or ponder on why he had such a strange expression of sadness and longing upon his tired features.

Perhaps in due time she’d come to learn of why such things were so important to her brother, but for now, she’d have to be content with her quiet dreams of lemon trees and that wonderful house with the red door they might get to see again.

Someday.


End file.
